Becoming Mels
by pitterpatterpat
Summary: A short interlude between Melody Pond and Mels. The problem of how River ended up in the U.K. had always been on my mind. Characters etc don't belong to me sadly, and spoilers all through series 7. The idea developed as I wrote, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)


This time she was good. She managed to appear directly inside her cell without causing much alarm.

_I'm getting better at this_. She thought, slipping off her long evening dress to change into comfortable prison wear. The irony of it. _Well, of course I'm improving; I've been at it for centuries_. Grinning to herself, she took the Vortex Manipulator off her wrist and set it on her bed. _He had just touched it not moments ago_. Her thoughts went back to two thousand years – or just a minute – before, the Doctor was so young. Yes, the universe just rebooted itself, reality began again, but still; he was so young. She did not know when she would see this young Doctor again, but as the times with _her_ Doctor dwindled and the times with a younger version of him increased, she couldn't help but feel her insides clench a little. She always knew such days were bound to come, but when you had all of time and space at your disposal, these things just don't happen. They just don't. Until they actually do.

A familiar thumping noise disrupted her thoughts, as a blue police call box materialised outside her cell. She looked up, uncertain of how she should handle all her flailing emotions. _He just couldn't leave her alone, could he?_ Feeling like she was being pulled apart by the memories of the past (_her_ past) and what was to come, she forced herself to rise.

"Hello, sweetie," she managed a smile as an older Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, waving his sonic screwdriver and stepping into her cell like he's done so so many times, over so many years. He rushed in, flustered.

She took a step forward and held his arm, "What's wrong?"

"River, this is important. When are you?"

"I just did the Pandorica. And you, sweetie – "

But he cut her off. "Okay, River. I need you to tell me, where Mels is. Was." He looked at her with urgent eyes.

"What –– I don't understand…" She replied, properly confused.

"I just did Berlin." He replied.

"Oh…" And she began to understand. And she recalled 1969.

* * *

It had been really cold. A very cold winter. She walked, crawled and found her way to Manhattan after escaping the dreaded spacesuit. She was so cold that she had begun to forget the picture of the redhead on her bedside table. She was beginning to hate her own mother for giving birth to her. She was only eight, what did she know?

She knew hunger, she knew cold. She knew discipline, and consequences for not toeing the line. She knew hatred, and she knew what murder was supposed to be. She was only eight. Melody Pond. And Melody Pond was dying.

She wrapped her useless piece of cardigan tighter around herself, teeth chattering and fingers turning blue. She hadn't eaten for five days, only had water from ditches along the way, and she was feeling downright miserable. Uncontrollable noises escaped her as she felt herself going numb with each step. She coughed.

"Are you okay, little girl? Are you okay?"

Melody looked up to see a nice poor man who stopped rummaging in the dumps for a second to ask how she was. She managed a tiny smile. No one had ever been so nice to her. So far, everyone had disciplined her, spacesuits ate her, and strangers shot her…

"It's alright," she replied softly. "It's quite alright." She decided to let this nice poor man in to a secret she was only just beginning to be aware of. "I'm dying… But I can fix that. It's easy, really." She raised her hands as golden swirls began appearing. "See?" And with that, a burst of golden light shot up into the sky, and in almost all directions.

The nice man backed away in horror and he began to run, just as little Melody Pond died, and on the exact spot, a dark-skinned toddler tripped over the oversized clothes that once belonged to an eight-year-old.

She was still cold. Stretching her short arms to grab the fabric, she realised that her body was clumsy. Her fingers did not coordinate as her mind dictated them to, and her legs weren't functioning all that well either. _She was a baby._ She sighed inwardly, not really understanding what was going on. Not two minutes ago, she just _knew_ she could change her body. As Melody Pond's bodily functions began shutting down from the hunger and cold, she had felt the gold and the heat emanating from inside and she just _knew_. Now, she also knew she had changed her body. She couldn't grab the cardigan with her hands and her pants had fallen out – a dozen sizes too big, so she rolled on the gravel until she was wrapped like a mummy. Lying on her back and facing the sky, she breathed out remnants of golden breath. A baby! How could she be a baby! She had an advanced mind for her toddler age now, but without proper functioning of her arms and legs, she was just going to die from the cold. _Again_. And no, she didn't fancy that tonight.

"Are we at the right street, Rory?" The kind voice of a middle-aged woman rang through the air. Melody the toddler froze.

"Yeah, West 52nd Street, it should be right, we should start looking, Amy. It's freezing out." A male voice replied.

Footsteps moved closer to the bundle of cloths as Melody kept her eyes wide open at the approaching strangers.

"Rory, look!" The woman half-yelled at the man. They stopped three feet away from what must have looked like a heap of unwanted clothes from afar.

"Amy," the man breathed. "It's her. We found her!"

For the first time since she ran away from the spacesuit in Florida, Melody felt frightened. She had come all the way to New York, only to turn into a baby who could not stand upright, let alone run. She was practically at their mercy.

"Alright chill, Rory. You're scaring her." The lady warned. She took a small step forward and crouched down, and Melody took her in with her eyes. She looked nice, a full head of flaming red hair with some streaks of grey in them. She also had a twinkle in her eye, something that cannot be faked, and Melody knew it. And somehow Melody felt that this lady was different. Nicer, Melody decided, than the people in the orphanage.

"Hello dear," Amy the nice lady smiled softly at the toddler, peering through the bundle of clothes. "I'm Amy, what's your name?"

Melody the toddler looked at Amy intently. No one could fake a kind smile, and if they wanted to be mean to her, this talk was really unnecessary. So she returned a small smile before saying ––

"Gaagaaahgooo." Melody froze. "Goohahooo-" She gasped. _I'm making baby noises!_

"It's okay," Amy interrupted. "It's okay dear," and she raised a hand to touch the bundle of clothes. Melody's eyes widened and she began to squirm, away from Amy's touch.

"Amy, you're scaring her." The man crouched down too and looked down at Melody. "I'm sorry we're doing this to you, but we have to, it's too cold. Melody –" Melody whimpered at the sound of her name. _How did they know her name?_ "Hey, hey, it's alright," Amy cooed. "Melody." The man repeated firmly. "We know you're Melody. Melody Pond. And we're not here to harm you. We will never harm you. And we know you're scared. But we also know you understand us, and right now, we need you to trust us." He looked at her, firmly, but also with something else. Something both soft and strong. Something old and new and colourful. Something warm even though she was beginning to shiver.

"Please Melody," Amy pleaded. "It's winter here in Manhattan, and you cannot be wrapped in nothing but a cotton cardigan. Please trust us, just for twenty minutes. When we get to a warmer place, we'll explain everything to you. We'll look dumb talking to a toddler, I know, but we know you understand. Please Mels?"

Melody wasn't sure what she should do. She was eight! Okay, technically she was only one. But all her life, people around her had hurt her, even spacesuits weren't nice to her, but weirdly – Melody peered over the cardigan at Amy – this lady felt somewhat familiar, as if they've met before. She then stole a glance at Rory. A middle-aged man, with warm brown spectacles perched on his nose. He exuded an air of calming presence, and to a little girl born as an orphan, Melody Pond suddenly felt as if…. Felt as it she found her father. That was all it took. "Dada," came out of her mouth, as she raised two clumsy hands through the holes in the cardigan towards him. His eyes widened in surprise, as he looked up at Amy, both properly stunned. He turned swiftly back to Melody Pond – his baby – and, removing his outer coat, wrapped it around her before lifting her gently from the gravel – right into his arms.

Rory Williams could hardly hold back his tears as he stood up in the dark alley, and he would always look back on that day thereafter – the first time he held his family around him. That beautiful moment when the Pond family (or Williams family) was complete. He had his child in his arms – a child of a different skin colour, a baby with the mind of one old enough to be in primary school, his best friend growing up (he winces whenever he remembers that now; because _man, that is so weird and awkward_), and his wife by his side. _Enough_, Rory thought, _enough now_ (and he finally understood that line in _Love Actually_, a Christmas movie he had missed for years after being sent back to the late 1930s).

Amelia Pond smiled with tears glistening in her eyes as she watched her husband pick Melody up. For that moment, all was complete. It was a dark alley, it was _bloody_ cold, it was 1970 and she really missed having electric heaters. Yet this had to be the best moment of her life. Rory beckoned her with his free right arm, and she snuggled right into his embrace. _This is wonderful_, Amy smiled contently. _This makes up for all the past 30 years of complete isolation from her tech-savvy world._ In that split second, Amy understood why everything happened the way they did all those lifetimes ago. She drew in a sharp intake of breath as memories after memories flickered through her mind like an old camera reel, clicking at places but playing out the story somehow.

When Amy and Melody Pond were taken away many years ago (or centuries later, if the boring, linear human opinion of time was adopted) to the 51st century, the Doctor could not bring her daughter back to them. Melody Pond was brought backward to Florida 1969, but she had to escape the spacesuit because River Song had arrived. Personal timelines cannot be crossed. And still the Doctor could not bring Melody back to them. Melody Pond had to make her own way to Manhattan by 1970, and die as cold and hunger overtook her, so that she could be where she was, minutes after regeneration –in the arms of her parents.

Amy's memory rewound, and for the girl who had the universe seeping inside her head from the day she was born, alternate realities were not difficult images to conjure up. She imagined that the Doctor found Melody as a baby, the first reincarnation of Melody Pond. Everything would have been rewritten. If Melody Pond – as Dr. River Song – did not step out of the water all those years ago (_just last year_, Amy realises in wonder) the Doctor's death would not have occurred. The fixed point in time would have been unhinged, and the real (or presently unreal) alternate reality all those years ago would have destroyed reality.

"Amy?" Rory's worried voice jolted her out of her thoughts. "You were spacing out. You okay dear?"

She looked up at him, and smiled at the sight of Rory and Melody together. "Never been better, stupid face. C'mon, let's go home." And they huddled together against the wind to their house.

As they hurried up the sidewalk, a young man opened the door and headed out to the porch to receive them. "Mom, pops!" He exclaimed. "I've been worried sick, man where were you two? And what's that!"

"Who," Amy corrected. "And not here, Anthony," Amy hushed him, and hurried everyone inside before closing the door behind them. "Mom, did you two just rush out of the house to pick up a black baby?" Anthony Brian Williams asked, frowning as his father lowered toddler Melody gently onto the couch.

"Now, Anthony," Amy warned. "This is complicated. Why don't you go boil some hot water, your father and I could use some tea." Anthony shrugged his shoulders before walking towards the kitchen. Amy quickly turned back to the pair on the couch. "What do we do now, Rory?" She asked urgently.

Melody tried to sit up, but was caught in Rory's big coat; he grinned and eased her out of the coat gently. "Hello Melody, I'm Rory," he smiled. Amy walked over to her husband's side and sat on the floor, directly facing the toddler. "I apologise on Anthony's behalf, but still you have to understand this is a rough age for dark-skinned beauties in America," Rory continued. "You'll grow up to be really beautiful."

Melody looked from Rory to Amy, and upon detecting no malice but only genuine affection, she nodded. Amy let out a low squeal of delight. "You understand us, you really do?" Melody nodded again.

Amy flung herself at the toddler, hugging her tightly before bursting into tears.

"Amy," Rory pulled his wife gently away from Melody, who was becoming distraught at the intensity of emotions spilling over from the middle-aged woman. "Amy, why don't you go heat up some scones with Anthony? You know _he_'ll come any moment now." He nudged her to leave, before frightening the child any further. Amy sniffled and nodded, giving Rory's hand a tight squeeze before leaving the room.

"Melody," Rory returned his full attention to the toddler. "This is difficult for you to understand, I know. Actually, we don't really understand it either. But I owe you some sort of explanation, don't I?" He chuckled lightly, and Melody gave him a tiny smile. "My name is Rory Williams, and I'm like you, Melody. I'm different. I live in Leadworth in the United Kingdom, not now, but years into the future, in the 1980s." Melody the toddler frowned – half-frowned, as her facial muscles weren't coordinating properly yet. He laughed and tapped her nose lightly. "I know, it doesn't make sense, but it will one day. You will one day."

The doorbell rang.

Rory looked at Melody intensely now. "Okay, listen well. You are loved, Melody. So very, very loved. Loved before your existence, loved into existence. You may not understand what I'm saying now, but I know you will remember. When you do, Mels, remember. You. Are. Loved." He picked her up and hugged her against his chest. "And what you are going to be now, Mels, is to be very, very brave."

"Rory," a rough voice travelled from the doorway.

"Canton," Rory acknowledged, rising from the couch as Amy squeezed her way past Canton into the room, with Anthony trailing behind with scones and tea.

"Tea?" Canton Delaware III laughed. "You Ponds are so English!"

Melody pricked up her ears the moment she heard 'Ponds'.

"Come sit," Amy smiled a tired smile at Canton. "No can do, Amy Pond, we're running out of time." He smiled apologetically.

Melody gasped inaudibly. She wriggled about in Rory's arms to get a better look at the woman who was being referred to as Amy Pond.

"Oh Canton, please," Amy pleaded. "We only just came back…"

"Amy," Canton sighed. "This cannot be delayed. The documents are prepared, the car is waiting, and so would I," he added as Amy tried to protest, "But the plane wouldn't."

Amy's eyes swirled with impending tears as Anthony looked around at everyone, understanding fully that he was clearly missing out.

Amy took a deep breath, and reached out to Rory for Melody. "Okay, but I have a request. Anthony, go to my room, and there's a small pink phone in my second drawer."

"How can a telephone be in your drawer ––" Anthony began.

"It's the only thing there. You can't miss it." She cut him off, before transferring Melody into her embrace. She hugged Melody, and paced around the room, whispering into Melody's ears. "You are always and completely loved, Melody Pond. Always. Don't _ever_ forget that."

Melody was holding onto Amy tightly, wondering if this was Amy Pond. If tales were true, was this her mother? Were they her parents?

"What is this? I have never seen anything like this before!" Anthony exclaimed, back with the pink camera phone. "Mom!"

"Camera phone," Canton grinned, proud that he knew. "Give it to me."

"Thanks Canton," Rory smiled. He beckoned for his wife to join him, and they sat on the couch with Melody, posing for a picture. Amy's eyes were brimming with tears, and Rory's arm around his wife and daughter was trembling. Then, they took one more, a complete family one with their adopted son, Melody's younger brother.

Before they knew it, _this_ was it.

"She'll be well cared for," Canton assured. "I will be with her all the way to the UK."

Amy kissed Melody on the forehead before lowering her into the plush carrier prepared for her baby. Rory tucked Melody in, and touched her gently on her cheek affectionately. The eight-year-old in toddler-Melody concentrated all her energy before finally managing to grab hold of Rory's little finger. Her father's little finger. Rory gasped and Amy laughed. And Canton picked up the carrier.

As they stood on the doorstep of their house in 1970, Melody began to understand that she was being taken away again, and she began to cry. But Melody was no normal toddler. She was a human _plus_, with regenerative energy still inside and around her, and she wasn't one. She was eight. Rory quickly squatted next to her carrier to touch her and hush her, and he whispered, "Be brave, Mels. And find us. Remember, Rory Williams and Amelia Pond. Leadworth, 1980s. I know you will. You will be amazing." She quietened down, and he kissed her forehead, looking at her intensely before straightening up.

"You had better go, Canton," he said hoarsely.

"Yes, it's time. Goodbye, Rory. Goodbye, Amy." He nodded twice, before turning on his heel with the carrier in tow, towards a plush black limousine parked at their sidewalk.

Rory pulled his wife into him as they both looked tearfully at the retreating figure of Canton. "Goodbye, my love," he whispered, and they stood there for a long time after the car pulled away. It was Amy who regained composure first. "C'mon," she wiped her tear-stained face. "It's time to explain everything to Anthony. And we owe Brian an explanation too." Hand in hand, they turned back into their house, as their confused son waited for them in the living room, 1970.

* * *

"River!" The Doctor shook her urgently, jolting her from her memories. She looked at him and smiled understandingly.

"New York, West 52nd Street, night of 28th January 1970."

"Thank you," the Doctor dropped a quick kiss on River's cheek, before spinning around on his heels. "That's all?" She called after him cheekily. He turned, smiling, "not now, River, I've got some important mail to send to 1970."


End file.
